When Suddenly We Fell Apart
by cute-will-kill
Summary: It's funny Sherlock mused, how the smallest things could shatter your heart and break your world into little bits. Strange how the people you love the most- the person he loved the most- could destroy everything. "I've got to leave..." When John's shipped out Serlock's world shatters so how does he live with John gone? And what happens when John comes home to fix his detective?
1. The Tiny Words that Break Your Heart

"_The tiny words that break your heart"_

: :

It's funny Sherlock mused, how the smallest things could shatter your heart and break your world into little bits. Strange how the people you love the most- the person he loved the most- could destroy everything.

How it all stopped when it shattered.

"I've got to leave..."

And that was Sherlock's world gone, shattered.

So that was Sherlock's life no; John was leaving in a month. Nothing he could do about anything. The worst part of this all? He knew it would make John happy to go even if it tore his own heart up for them to be apart from the man he loved, John would be happy and that's what mattered.

Sherlock had come home soaked from the rain and shivering with cold on the day that he's found out. John was just sitting frowning at the door; he could have been deep in thought, he could have been lost in thought or he could have just been waiting for Sherlock; he didn't know then John looked up then looking upset but excited as well, Sherlock didn't understand and stood there nervous and dripping wet, confusion evident on his face.

"Sherlock... this isn't easy to say..." John remained seated looking up at the taller man when he would have normally come and helped him out of his wet clothes and to get him warm. This fact just worried Sherlock further; what _had _happened?

"J-John?" Sherlock worried his bottom lip feeling apprehensive and worried- something no one had been able to make Sherlock feel until John had come along.

"Sherlock." John paused, glancing away before seeming to steal himself and looking up into Sherlock's eyes. "I've got to leave..."

Sherlock didn't know what to say; he just leant against the wall, his head hitting the wall with a loud, sickening thud.

"Sherlock? Sherlock?!" Now John was standing up and Sherlock felt warm small hands on his face whilst his vision swam.

John was leaving? Where? _Why_? He _had _to? Oh God...

And that was it; Sherlock's heart was broken.

: :

"_How can you stay in control when all you know is_

_Falling apart? Falling apart."_

: :

Sherlock cradled John against his chest whilst crappy TV played indistinctly in the background, just indistinct noise. John sighed quietly as Sherlock pressed soft, light kisses to his ear and neck whilst pulling John back and closer to him so there was no space between his chest and John's back.

"John? Tell me again?"

"Sherlock…" John sounded reluctant.

"Please?" Sherlock was practically begging.

John sighed and pulled Sherlock's hand up so that he could kiss the genius's fingers gently. "I will come back. I _will _come home."

Sherlock could almost relax now but the he remembered why John had to promise and he only tensed up again. "Thank you." He whispered into John's ear, despite it not being anywhere near enough. Anywhere near comforting.

"Sherlock, I can't do more than promise."

"I know but..." John turned in his arms, sitting on his lap and kissing him tenderly.

"Shut up Sherlock, I'll come home." John kissed him again.

"You don't know-"

"I do. You have to not dwell on i-"

"Not dwell on it?! How do I not dwell on it, John?! It eats away at me all the time! You're leaving and I'm falling apart!"

"Sherlock... I have to go and you know it."

"You can! Mycroft can get you out of this."

"I don't want Mycroft to get me out of this!" John pulled back looking horrified at the thought. "I want to go, if I didn't it wouldn't be fair to anyone else and I wouldn't be able to live with myself. Sherlock, I have to go and no one can change that, not even you. I need to go."

Sherlock lowered his face to John's shoulder in defeat. "I know… I just don't want you to go. Don't want you to die…"

"I know but I won't die. Promise."

Sherlock didn't bother pointing out that John couldn't promise that; he needed the reassurance too much.

: :

_"And nothing feels right not right now."_

: :

Sherlock held John close and begged him for- what he promised himself would be- the last time. "Please. Please don't go back."

"I'm sorry love, I'm going." John murmured from where his face was pressed into Sherlock's neck.

"Right." Sherlock knew he sounded hurt and lost but really didn't know how to change that other than to get a different answer.

John pulled back and stood on tiptoes to kiss Sherlock. "See you in eight months, alright?" John smiled gently up at him Sherlock almost felt reassured- almost.!

"Yeah, eight months." Sherlock bent his head down to kiss John again, ignoring all the other soldiers saying goodbye to their own loved ones.

A voice came over the loud speakers, breaking them apart, (it felt like that broke Sherlock's heart as well as their embrace) and announcing that passengers on John's flight had to head to the plane now, (that felt like someone had stabbed him in his broken heart as well).

"Alright then, this is goodbye." John said quietly, he sounded sad and excited all at once.

"Yes."

"I love you."

"I love you too." A final kiss and then John was turning away, leaving him standing there alone.

He felt very empty- just empty. As if he couldn't feel anymore, now his conductor was gone.

He wandered the airport until he finally dropped into an empty seat; he wasn't sure why he sat then, he wasn't sure of anything, he just did.

His face was wet, he noticed sometime later- hours? Days? Who knows? Who cares? John's gone.- Was it raining?

Distantly he realised he was looking at a roof, his head tipped back.

Oh so inside- with people, lots of them, Sherlock could faintly hear the din.

Why was his face wet then?

It seemed very odd and yet he didn't care. That was odd too... for some reason.

"Sherlock?" Was that his name?

"Sherlock?" They sounded worried, whoever they were.

Why were they worried about him?

"Sherlock?" Maybe they knew why his face was wet?

Was it John?

"Sherlock? Get up Sherlock." He got up, blinking in confusion at the familiar face.

Wasn't there something important he had to ask...?

Why had he stood up?

"Sherlock, look at me. No. At me! Not at my left ear." Why couldn't he just leave him be?

Didn't he know how much Sherlock hurt?

"Go away Mycroft..." Why did his voice sound so... raw?

"No. You need me."

Why didn't he understand?

Wait; did he know why his face was wet?

"Why's my face wet? It's not raining..."

Was that the important question?

"Because you're crying, Sherlock."

Crying?

Why was he crying?

John was gone.

Oh.

Right.

"Come on Sherlock, let's get you home." Mycroft sounded tentative and gentle, like Sherlock was a spooked animal.

But John was _gone_.

"Why did he go?"

Oh, right, that was the question.

: :

"_So I look but you're not by my side." _

: :

Sherlock began work again after a week and a half of barely moving, Mrs Hudson forcing food into him and playing violin by the window if he did get up.

But it wasn't right; every time he looked at John's chair he was reminded that the man wasn't there to coax him out of one of his black moods. Was reminded that he had left him and Sherlock had no one.

Every time Mrs Hudson came upstairs and fussed around him, making him eat and drink he was reminded of who _wasn't _doing that anymore. The person he needed most, who was quintessential to his being, wasn't there to care for him or to love him. He was away getting shot at somewhere just because the officials had found out that John had been 'deemed fit for service' so he had to serve the last of his time.

And every time he played his violin he was reminded of his John; if it was three am and he was playing a screeching melody that made your teeth clench he was only reminded that John wasn't there to come storming out of their bedroom and reprimand the detective or to whine and mutter about it in the morning over tea and toast. And if he was playing a beautiful melody that flowed off the strings and made you smile then he was only reminded that there was no small army doctor to praise him and laugh about how he should play like that more often. No John to get him to put the violin down, turn him around and kiss him tenderly until he wanted to always play like that for John and only John.

He missed him so much, oh God it hurt so much to have him gone, just like he'd had something literally cut out of his body; something that was fundamental to him being _him_ that could never be replaced and never put back quite right again.

: :

"_Whatever happened to 'I would rather die'?" _

: :

Sherlock shot the wall for the fourth time that day. He couldn't quite bring himself to imagine John's face over that of the smiley face but he was close, he was so, so close. John had left and God did he hate that.

He hated his doctor for it.

And oh God it killed him.

He hated that he hated John but he just couldn't stop himself.

Everyone kept telling him he had to get out. That he 'had' to see the sun and interact with people. He'd decided that was overrated a week ago after he'd finished a case for Lestrade in which he's almost died, again. Apparently everyone was worried about him, thought he was 'falling apart', thought he couldn't handle life without John and thought he was a danger to himself.

Lestrade had started frequent drugs busts again afraid he would start using, afraid his mind would start spinning out of control again. As if he'd risk that.

And although no one had said it- although Mrs Hudson did so very quietly and carefully- he knew she was checking for knives and poisons. Anything that he could hurt himself with was very discretely taken away. Mrs Hudson had left his skull though she thought he was lonely and needed someone to talk to, even if it wasn't John.

He sighed and raised the gun taking aim at the wall again, refusing to think of John's face stubbornly hating that he even had an urge to.

He fired, getting that momentary rush before depression rushed back in to fill his heart.

: :

**So hi guys! This is**_** C**_**, M actually hasn't had anything to do with the writing of this. I asked her for a prompt and she gave me the wonderful idea of John being reinstated. **

**Thank you so much M and I hope you enjoy your present! I couldn't do all this without you. **

**: : **

**This chapter's name is from the song Breaking and Entering by Tonight Alive I suggest you look it up! **

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**From M and **_**C**_


	2. Picture Perfect Memories

_"Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor."_

: :

Sherlock rocked back and forth on his heels staring hard at the wall, watching the first time he ever met John play out in his head. He watched John's kindness but also his clear- Sherlock, absurdly, struggled for words, though his current state could be to blame- ruthlessness? That was probably the word. Watched the contrast of his kindness and ruthlessness- he saw it in how he held himself, the lines of his face and body, his mouth's set and how his muscles tensed and relaxed in tiny movements- and he thought it beautiful, the perfect puzzle and an intricate mystery for Sherlock to solve and spend time over.

He watched the memory behind his eyes stilling the rocking for only a moment as he considered what it would be to have never met John. He supposed he wouldn't know this pain but, then, he'd never have known the love either; and not just John's but all his friends.

Then he saw Molly come into the room in his mind's eye and her stuttering absurdities shattered the perfect memory of John and he was thrown into harsh reality once again.

: :

_"I just need you now."_

: :

Waking alone in a cold bed was one of Sherlock's least favourite things recently, when he did go to bed that is. Whereas before he would just get up and hunt for John and, when he found him, hold him close and bring him back to bed.

Sherlock lay still in the pale music, dark shadows striping across his chest and the sheets- tangled as they were- tying his legs together.

He felt no urge to get up, no urge to ever move again, not until John came home. Then he would move but for now he would leave himself in the clutches of the soul crushing depression which he knew he had developed.

He tensed when he realised that when John came home he might reject him, might not want a broken man as his lover. And Sherlock had broken himself, he knew that, he had placed fresh track marks in the crease of his arm and shattered his mind with the drugs and emotions. Oh yes, others may not see it and he may still be capable of thinking faster than anyone else- save Mycroft- of solving cases when so inclined but John would see it, see how he had broken.

Would he turn away? Would he wish to fix him?

These thoughts plagued him, kept him awake and in pain at night when his body cried for sleep.

He didn't know the answer to this puzzle though he needed it desperately.

: :

_"And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?_

_For me it happens all the time."_

: :

Sherlock dropped onto the couch grumbling loudly about stupidity. Lestrade followed him in and sat down.

"Not that chair!" Sherlock sat up and waved agitatedly at Lestrade glaring and hissing. Lestrade stood quickly, confused but not willing to risk Sherlock killing him in his sleep.

"Why can't I sit there?" Sherlock saw curiosity etched into the lines of Lestrade's face.

Sherlock lay back on the couch throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Sherlock."

"No one sits in that chair except-" Sherlock choked and stopped talking.

Lestrade frowned sitting in a different seat. "That's his seat isn't it."

Sherlock remained silent not confirming anything.

"That's John's chair isn't it?"

Sherlock flinched at that and turned over. "Yeah…" He knew his voice sounded hoarse and pained but he couldn't be bothered to care; he was too tired to work up to caring.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" Lestrade placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

"What do you think, Greg?" He bit out sourly shrugging off the hand.

"I think you're in pieces Sherlock, but frankly I thought I'd check."

"Yeah well thanks so much, Greg." Sherlock said bitterly. "You know I hate having him gone."

"I know Sherlock…"

"You can leave now Greg."

"But…talk to me?"

"No."

"It'll help." Even Greg- who'd known him for years- sounded tentative.

"No, it won't. I think about him constantly and all everyone says is-" Sherlock put on a high mocking voice "-'you should talk about your feelings for him' 'we're all worried about you Sherlock' 'how are you holding out Sherlock? It's been four months now' and 'maybe you should consider getting help Sherlock, you're depressed and we're all really worried'. It's tedious, Greg." Sherlock sounded strained and desperate by the time he'd finished, pushing himself up with his eyes wild and hair unkempt, falling over his face.

Greg looked down at him sadly. "Sherlock…"

"Yes?" A wild one syllable that left his lips with a bite to it that he knew would hurt Greg.

"I…"

"Exactly, get out."

And Greg left after that, not knowing what to say or what to do.

Sherlock flopped back down letting his limbs un-tense and his brain fall back into a dark cloud of thoughts.

: :

_"It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now."_

: :

Sherlock staggered into the flat his brain alight and his body on fire. Alcohol was good sometimes he'd decided; Mrs Hudson, Greg and Mycroft were determined to repeatedly remove his knives and stash. They did so even more diligently when they found fresh scars on his arms and legs, even some on his neck and of course fresh track marks.

Alcohol was convenient when they'd removed both.

He stumbled into the door and hit the doorframe hard. Giggling he tried to stand straight again, oh that would bruise tomorrow.

He slumped across the room using things like tables that were conveniently there for him, unlike John. Oh yeah he had a table but no lover, because that didn't suck.

So he was drinking to forget- wait who was he forgetting?- just to forget… John.

Oh right John, who'd want to forget John? Lovely, sweet, little John who was a doctor. Who made people better all the time.

Oh wait forgetting John because of- Sherlock's mind back peddled quickly away from THE EVENT.

Oh damn it all to hell; he knew drinking would come back to bite him at some point, he was depressed the last thing he needed was a depressant in his system.

He ended up shattering a glass and using the shards to help relieve some tension by cutting deep into his knee this time.

Damn Mrs Hudson and her fussing when she found the alcohol and blood.

Damn Greg for his CONCERN.

Damn Mycroft and the fuss he'd kick up at this.

But most of all damn John.

: :

"And I don't know how, I can do without."

: :

Six months, oh God six months of hell. Sherlock stood on the back of the sofa staring down at the floor. Maybe he should end it, maybe that would make it better. Save John the pain of finding him broken.

Sherlock contemplated the carpet as if it were concrete a hundred metres below him and he was assessing the jump.

Maybe it'd just be easier… after all he had jumped before, albeit that time he hadn't been left permanently dead. That time had ended well... Sort of.

It'd end well, really it would. It'd be better for everyone, John included.

He barely noticed the blood running down from his latest needle puncture or the sweat trickling into his eyes anymore; nothing mattered after all John could die at any second and he wouldn't know- or maybe he would?- he couldn't change that fact but he could still hate it.

"Sherlock! Oh my God get down!" He felt arms wrap around his torso and pull him down so he was actually resting on the floor.

"Sherlock?" He blinked blearily clearing his eyes, still not able to focus on the person properly. Slowly Greg's face swam into focus and behind him stood Mycroft.

Greg shook him, "What are you doing?! What about John?!"

"Screw John!" Sherlock spat out angry that they were prying and angry at John.

"Sherlock what's-" Mycroft started.

Sherlock pulled out of Greg's grip but collapsed back against the sofa unable to keep himself up now that he thought about it. "John won't want me when he comes back…" He slurred out. "I'm broken- an' besides he could be dead!"

"Sherlock, he's not dead." Mycroft grabbed him under the arms, hauling him round to sit down.

"You don't know tha'…" He managed to get out.

"Yes I do Sherlock, I requested all information be given to me immediately. I know John isn't dead."

"He still won' wan' me though!" Bit out an annoyed Sherlock; he didn't understand why they wouldn't leave him be, his mouth had gone dry and his head was beginning to pound putting him in a fowl mood fuelled mostly by his pain and depression.

Mycroft turned bitter his face twisting sourly. "Sherlock he was shot again."

Everything stopped then, it going silent slowly the thumping in his head returned to disturb him. "…What?"

"A bullet clipped his side, it's not critical but it'll hurt to breathe for a long time so they're sending him back in a month..." Mycroft said slowly and put his hand on Sherlock's knee. "I'm sorry Sherlock but you're going to have to see him when he comes back, at least once."

Sherlock sat in silence, not knowing what to say. Surely it had been better before when he had two months to find a way to kill himself and now, now John was coming back he had to live to see him because now John- HIS John- was hurt and needed him. Could he leave the man now? Would he want to, even if the other man sent him away? No.

But would he? Would he still want to kill himself after he'd seen the other man again, after all this time?

He had no answers; for no one, not even himself.

: :

**Well then here we are again! Here you go M, I hope you like your present! **

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	3. Caught Up in This Moment

_"Caught up in this moment."_

: :

A hospital... A door... Oh God. John- HIS John- was right behind this door. In this room.

Right here.

Now.

Oh God.

Sherlock couldn't do this, he really couldn't. John would_ know_. He'd know everything. And there was nothing he could do to stop that seeing as John- _his _John- could read him like no one else could.

He couldn't go in.

He couldn't go in.

He could not.

He _would_ not.

Sherlock stopped and stared at the room number.

Four, three, seven.

It was emblazoned into his memory now.

He refused to go any further; he could NOT go any further, for God's sake.

Lestrade and Mycroft grabbed him under the arms and knocked on the door.

Greg muttered to him, "We're not letting you get away yet Sherlock."

"You've been pining for him for months, Sherlock." Mycroft butted in.

"You are _so _not killing yourself." Greg glared at him. "He'd-"

The door opened and an exhausted looking John stood there. "Yeah?- Oh..." He was staring at Sherlock and he knew what John saw; the pale skin and the fact that he'd got thinner. That he looked dead and his hair was an untidy mess- the scars and the pain. "Oh my God..." And he saw that John _saw _him.

At that moment he was glad that Mycroft and Greg were there to hold him up because if not he would've fallen to his knees right then.

: :

_"I've never opened up to anyone."_

: :

Sherlock sat curled up in the chair against the wall, resting his chin on his knees. John was propped up on the bed staring back at him with deep shadows under his eyes making him look bone weary.

"Sherlock?"

"Mm?" Sherlock glanced up and then back down at the floor.

"Are you okay?"

Sherlock stared at the floor, unable to answer. They could both see that frankly he was not okay. They could both see that neither of them were alright- in all senses of the word.

"Not really." Sherlock muttered, staring at the floor.

"Will you tell me what happened? Why you're like this?"

Sherlock stayed silent, he couldn't answer truth be told. John leaving had destroyed him and he wasn't sure if the man in question coming back could actually fix him after that pain.

The fact that _John _couldn't fix him scared him more than, probably, anything else in his life, except losing him of course.

"I know you didn't want me to go but I didn't think…" John trailed off and he looked up fleetingly curious as to what the end of that sentence was. John looked at him with weary eyes and then shook his head and turned over. "You're different now, we both are. I dreamed of coming back to see you; of your face and your arms of loving you. But I can't do that if you won't open up to me, Sherlock."

And Sherlock just sat in the chair staring at John's back knowing that the man was right but not being able to fix it.

He stared at John for hours, until the other man fell asleep and began having a nightmare and- whereas before he would've gone to comfort him- he just sat and watched the love of his life twitch and moan in fear.

: :

"_No, I don't wanna mess this thing up, _

_I don't want to push too far." _

: :

Sherlock stood in the doorway to 221b watching John look around at the, deliberately, clean living room. He'd made sure it was tidy and orderly; living alone for six months had meant that he'd left mess everywhere; he couldn't bring himself to do John's jobs even little things like tidying was classed as _John stuff_. It physically hurt when Mrs Hudson or Lestrade tidied up after him. He'd had to leave the flat when they did this final tidy and when he came back he hurt- even knowing John would be home soon- but now seeing the shorter man's face, it was worth it.

"Sherlock, did you tidy?" The man turned slowly- wary of his injuries- to look at Sherlock with an amazed grin.

"Ah... no." Sherlock smiled back sheepishly. "I asked Mrs Hudson to do it..." He hesitated glancing down and then looked back up at John. "I always thought of that as something _you _did. When you left I di... didn't like doing your things."

John looked up at him his grin slipping slightly. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock moved past him, careful not to touch him in any way. "I'm glad you're home."

And with that he left and went to his room, locking the door behind him so John couldn't follow. He wasn't quite ready for that, ready for anything. He was sorry to shut John out but he had to, take it slow and fix it slow as well, he'd fix it eventually.

: :

"_I know if we give this a bit of time, _

_It'll only bring us closer to the love we want to find." _

: :

A movie played quietly in the background as John and Sherlock sat at opposite ends of the couch, pretending to watch the movie whilst surreptitiously looking at each every now and then; it was just like before they got together.

After a while Sherlock slid sideways and ended up with his in John's lap. It was a tentative move but one he just had to make, if he didn't he might never have.

John didn't question it, just hesitated before slowly carding his hands through the other man's long curls. Sherlock sighed, relaxing slowly into the shorter man's touch.

After about half an hour of silently watching the movie he finally admitted something which he knew he had to tell John. "I... I missed you." He swallowed nervously. "So much."

"...I missed you too Sherlock."

Sherlock sat up looking down at John. "Really?"

"Of course you idiot!" John smiled and then slowly drew Sherlock down for a soft tender kiss; their first since John left.

It was perfect and slow and gentle; it spoke of being fixed and years together and everything they had before John broke everything.

It spoke of perfection, even after everything, and it was all Sherlock wanted for now.

: :

"_No, I don't want to say goodnight,_

_I know it's time to leave, but you'll be in my dreams,_

_Tonight."_

: :

John lay snuggled close in Sherlock's arms, his back pressed to Sherlock's own chest in a mockery of the position they were in before John left, when Sherlock begged him not to go for the umpteenth time.

"Okay Sherlock, I'm going to bed."

"No, stay a while longer, please?" Sherlock was close to tightening his arms before he remembered John's injuries.

"Come on Sherlock, I'm exhausted."

"Sleep here?" John chuckled at that and pulled away standing up.

"I'm going to bed Sherlock." He leant down to kiss him goodnight. "Okay?"

Sherlock nodded and looked down. "Upstairs?"

"If you want me to?" John smiled gently down at the taller man.

Sherlock looked down and nodded. "Just for a couple more nights..."

John smiled, "I understand; you need your time alone." He stood up straighter. "If you change your mind I'll be upstairs."

: :

**For M because you're great and everything.**

**FOR THE ANON WHO REVIEWED ABOUT THE QUOTES I USED IF YOU ARE READING THIS… Chapter 1 the quotes are from the song Breaking and Entering by Tonight Alive and in Chapter 2 they're from Need You Now by Lady Antebellum. The whole story is named for a line from the song Fairytale by Alexander Rybak. Hope that answers your question.**

**Thank you all for your support! **

**Reviews are appreciated! **

**From M and **_**C**_


	4. How To Be Brave

_"How to be brave,_

_How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?"_

: :

Sherlock couldn't look at John that morning; the nightmares were back and he couldn't stop them by reminding himself that John was just upstairs.

So they sat at the table; Sherlock looking down at his food that John had cooked and John looking between his food and Sherlock.

"Is something wrong Sherlock?"

Go away, he thought. He might be imagining John. Was he?

What if he was?

Sherlock began to panic, not able to breathe. He was imagining John. He was imagining John. Oh God he wished it would end.

"Sherlock?" The imaginary John sounds panicked and pushed his chair back standing.

His vision was going black and he was holding on tightly onto the table so tight his fingers were going white.

He was grabbed then by the shoulders and hauled up by John- how could he touch him? He wasn't real? Oh God this was all a hallucination- who shook him till he looked up.

He began looking into John's- John's?- blue eyes. He was drowning.

Or was he swimming?

Drowning.

"Sherlock, snap out of it! You're not breathing! You're having a panic attack, please calm down."

"You're not real! You're making me drown!"

"Drown? Sherlock, breathe!"

Sherlock was slapped then- right across the face- making him reel back. He began breathing again, fast and hard.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but you needed that."

Sherlock looked up and nodded. "Thank you."

John nodded looking upset. "Right... you know I love you right?"

Sherlock nodded. "I'm sorry John."

John just nodded turning away, "Okay."

: :

"_But watching you stand alone_

_All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow." _

: :

John was stood staring out the window when Sherlock walked in. He must've heard him because he turned to look at the other man. "Sherl?"

"Mm, yeah?" Sherlock leant in the doorway watching the other man's silhouette against the window as he turned back to looking at the street.

"Can I ask you something?" John sounded worried.

"Anything." Sherlock replied without really thinking about it; too engrossed in John's tension.

"Why do you scream at night?"

Sherlock gasped and was immediately in front of John putting his arms around the other man and pulling him into a hug whispering, "I don't."

John pushed him back tears reflecting the street lamps whilst they fell down his cheeks. "You bloody do Sherlock! Please, tell me...?"

Sherlock sighed. "You... you heard me?"

"Yeah..." John sounded upset and wiped his eyes angrily with his sleeve. "Is it why you won't let me sleep in the same bed again?"

"Sort of... I have nightmares about you... you dying in the war? You leaving? Never seeing you again? You realising I'm-" Sherlock choked up. "I'm broken."

"Sherlock..." John obviously didn't know what to say.

Sherlock shook his head, his own tears flying off his cheeks. He raised his hands and brushed John's tears away and ducked his head to kiss the shorter man passionately.

When they broke apart, breathless and staring at each other.

"You're... You're not broken Sherlock."

Sherlock just shrugged and went to kiss John again when the other man put his hand on his chest. "Well if _you _are, we _both_ are."

Sherlock smiled at that and kissed John softly again. "Thank you."

: :

_"One step closer."_

: :

Sherlock stared down at the body, a short blonde man, and couldn't come up with anything; no deductions, nothing. All he could see was John's face pasted over the dead man's face, seeing John lie in a pool of blood- his own- and hole blown through his chest.

Suddenly there was a warm hand on his back and Sherlock turned to look at John- the real John.

"Oh..." Sherlock felt disorientated at the shift from illusion to reality.

"You alright Sherlock?" John looked up at him with worry evident in his eyes. "Sherlock?"

"Uh... Yeah..." Sherlock nodded quickly. "I'm fine."

John sighed and slipped his hands quickly into Sherlock's own, pulling him away from the body and ignoring Donovan's shouts that if the freak was going to offer his help he shouldn't back out of it.

"Tell me what you saw?" John murmured when they were sitting in the cab on the way home. "Please?"

Sherlock sighed looking at their still entwined hands. "I saw you... He was too similar to you..."

John nodded. "Thank you."

Sherlock lifted his head to look at John, searching his face. "Why are you thankful?"

"Because you told me." John smiled softly and pulled Sherlock in for a gentle kiss. When they broke apart he smiled again. "Thank you for telling me."

: :

_"I will not let anything take away_

_What's standing in front of me."_

: :

Sherlock pulled John into his room sure of himself now. "Sherlock? Sherlock stop!"

He did frowning and turned to the other man, "What is it John?"

"Are you sure you can do this?"

Sherlock smiled down at John, if that was all he was worried about then that was fine.

"John, I have never been more sure. I love you, so much, and I never want to wake up in the night again and not have you with me, to not know where you are or whether you're awake or asleep. Whether you're dreaming. I'm ready now; I don't scream anymore, you told me that and I was so glad when you did. "Sherlock stopped for breath then and then John stopped him with a kiss. In that was all the love and things they felt.

"Oh..." Sherlock grinned stupidly down at the man he'd love forever.

"Shut up and let's go to bed..." John laughed at pushed Sherlock into the room and towards their- because it was _theirs_ again now- bed.

: :

"_I have died everyday waiting for you_

_Darling don't be afraid I have loved you_

_For a thousand years_

_I'll love you for a thousand more_

_And all along I believed I would find you_

_Time has brought your heart to me_

_I have loved you for a thousand years_

_I'll love you for a thousand more..." _

: :

**So I wrote this for my dear M, Happy Christmas M I hope this is what you wanted.**

**The lyrics I've used for this story:**

**Title: Alexander Rybak – Fairytale**

**Chapter 1: Tonight Alive – Breaking and Entering **

**Chapter 2: Lady Antebellum – I Need You Now**

**Chapter 3: Lady Antebellum – Just a Kiss**

**Chapter 4: Christina Perri – A Thousand Years**

**Our tumblr is: **

**cute - will - kill . tumblr **

**Just remove the spaces! **

**Reviews are appreciated! **

**Thank you for reading this, we'd love to hear from you. If you have any requests message us on tumblr! **

**Merry Christmas! **

**From M and **_**C. **_


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